Following the Path
by BBC Shipper
Summary: What would have happened if Sister Bernadette had chosen a different path? TW: death


Sister Bernadette exhaled a deep sigh as she closed the door to her room at the sanatorium behind her, taking a moment to lean back against it and gather her thoughts. She was certain that this was the right path, the right thing to do. She had reassured Sister Julienne as much just a few moments ago as they sat on a bench in the garden. And yet the weight, though lifting slightly from where it had settled in her chest, was not gone from her. She glanced at her bedside table where her Bible and the letters sat. _Yes_ , she thought to herself, _when I've read those letters and fully embraced this decision, the burden will be eased_.

She sat down to read the letters from Dr. Turner that had piled up by her bedside. Rather than being the stuff of adventure as her nurse suspected, they were filled with terms of endearment and ramblings from a man who confessed to love her. Some of the letters made her smile, some made her cry, and some made her face blush red from the confessions they contained within. _It's good I waited to read these_ , she admitted silently, _I could not allow these letters to sway my decision_.

Sister Bernadette had joined the Order of St. Raymond of Nonnatus because she wanted to dedicate her life to bringing new life into the world and she found comfort in the rules of the order. She had found comfort in the arms of her sisters where she had previously been devoid of love. Ever since her mother had passed, she had felt that aching need for belonging, for family. The order had provided that. And no matter what this handsome man stated in his letters, _oh she had to stop thinking of him in that way_ , she could not ignore the fact that she had taken a lifelong vow. No matter the tugs she felt upon her heart, _surely those are the desires of the flesh_ , she had to become resolute in her position as a Sister. She had told Sister Julienne that though she had struggled, she would now stand firm in her vow. It was, after all, the right thing to do. She was never one to back down from a commitment made.

A short time after her conversation with Sister Julienne, Sister Bernadette was released from care at the sanatorium to convalesce at the Mother House. The weight upon her heart easing slightly, but oh so slowly, with each passing day. Surely her time in the Mother House would help her recommit to her vow and forget her foolish desires of the flesh she had indulged too long. Surely the heaviness she felt within her was her punishment for entertaining such ideas too long. She chided herself for those times she lingered outside the nurses' rooms, longing to join in their folly instead of the Great Silence. She berated herself for allowing Dr. Turner to grow so close to her, for ever having relished that gentle kiss upon her hand. She would deal with her punishment as long as it would take, but one day she would be free of its weight. She was certain.

Picturing Sister Monica Joan and Sister Evangelina, Sister Bernadette imagined growing old in the convent in Poplar, delivering babies day after day and feeling the love and warmth of her sisters surrounding her. Yes, this was the path she had chosen, so this was the path on which she must remain.

Then she received the telephone call. That terrible, tragic call that broke her heart and felt like it split her soul in two. Despite having rejected the advancing love of Dr. Turner, Sister Bernadette could never turn her back on her favorite little boy in Poplar, he would always be close to her heart. And now Sister Julienne had phoned with the news: polio. He was in hospital with polio. The prognosis was not good.

She rushed to pack her suitcase and arrange for someone to take her back to the convent immediately. She needed to be with her family. She needed to be there for poor, sweet Timothy. In the end, it was too late. By the time she arrived at hospital, she was told that the poor boy was gone. His father had found him too late, there was nothing they could do. Sister Bernadette fell to her knees, sobbing for the poor lad and what his father must be enduring. It was some time before she regained her composure enough to cycle back to the convent to tell them the news. It was even longer before she plucked up the courage to go to the Turner home to offer Dr. Turner some food from Mrs. B. He never answered the door, so she left the cake tin on the doorstep.

No one saw Dr. Turner until the day of the funeral. A locum had arrived to take care of his patients as Dr. Turner could not seem to bring himself to even open the door to his flat. Sister Julienne had tried to see him, but saw the cake tin sitting on the doorstep a full two days later, along with quite a few other cards and flowers sent with sympathy. When the day of the funeral arrived, Sister Bernadette gasped audibly when she saw him. He looked terrible. _It's no wonder, not with all that he has been through… Oh, Lord, what have I done?_

Sister Bernadette tried to approach doctor, but he kept avoiding her gaze and turning toward someone else. He knew she was trying to speak to him alone, but he couldn't face her. No one could reach him now. His mind was lost to death and blood and memories of the war. Without Timothy and Marianne to cling to, without hope of a new love and with the pain of Sister Bernadette's rejection, Dr. Turner was without a lifeline to hold to. He couldn't speak, only remember. Sister Bernadette honestly wasn't sure how he'd made it out of his flat at all in that condition. She finally caught him alone outside and placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder and offered a simple "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he yelled, surprising both of them at the sound of his voice… he hadn't spoken since he screamed a litany of curses at the nurse who told him his son was gone. "What good does your bloody sorrow do for me? Leave me alone! I am alone! Take your 'sorry' and GO!"

Sister Bernadette stumbled backwards in shock. _What was happening? She had done what was right, hadn't she? Hadn't she chosen the right path?_ Suddenly, she felt the weight of not just her chest, but the fabric of her habit dragging her down. How had she ended up in the river? She was sinking, her habit dragging her under deeper and deeper, screaming but no one could hear her. The water surrounded her, filling her lungs, the world turning dark around her. "PATRICK!"

Patrick shot straight up in bed, worry chasing every bit of sleep away at the sound of the sheer terror in her voice. Shelagh had never had a nightmare before that he could recall, though she had mentioned having them when her mother died. He pulled his wife close, stroking her sweat covered hair away from her face in an attempt to wake and calm her. "Shelagh, Shelagh, I'm here! I'm here!"

Shelagh looked up in confusion. It had seemed so real… She had fallen asleep contemplating her conversation with Sister Monica Joan, had wondered what life would have been like if she had chosen a different path. Just then Timothy came bounding into the room "Mum, are you okay?" worry creasing his young face. He was followed shortly by a sleepy-faced Angela, curious as to the commotion.

"I'm alright, sweetheart, it was just a bad dream." She gathered her family in close as Patrick brought her a now awoken and rather unhappy Teddy. "I love each of you so very much" she whispered, pulling each one close for a tender kiss on the forehead as they sat gathered upon the bed.

It was then that she realized again the truth of her words to her dear Sister – she had not chosen this path, it had chosen her. She had not abandoned her vow, she had fulfilled it. Because though she was no longer with the order, she knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt, God had called her to bind this family together. Her life in the order had been just what she needed, it had been best. Both paths chose her right when they needed to, because both had brought her family.


End file.
